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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28094100">Smiling, Damned Villain</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mini_puffs/pseuds/mini_puffs'>mini_puffs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>In Hindsight [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canonical Character Death, Gen, References to Shakespeare, Regret</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:29:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>698</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28094100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mini_puffs/pseuds/mini_puffs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He stands to view everything he’s ever worked for blown to smithereens, utter debris and ruins that’ll never be rebuilt, not for a very long time. People in the crowd are screaming, all hope draining from their voices, some of the TNT still going off and the explosions in the distance.</p>
<p> A beautiful sound. </p>
<p> Perfectly played notes of a melody.</p>
<p><i> Oh, L'manberg, my L'manberg. </i> </p>
<p> His unfinished symphony.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wilbur Soot &amp; Phil Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>In Hindsight [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979266</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Smiling, Damned Villain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>probably should say this is dream smp, roleplay lmao, every work in this series is about the smp and their roleplay characters anyway tho</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> Irony, </em> is the first thing Wilbur thinks of the moment the sword plunges into his stomach. It feels like nothing more than a punch to the gut and seeing as it’s Phil, he wouldn’t have been surprised if that was the case. He has the adrenaline to thank for that, pumping through his body and keeping him standing to view everything he’s ever worked for blown to smithereens, utter debris and ruins that’ll never be rebuilt, not for a very long time. People in the crowd are screaming, all hope draining from their voices, some of the TNT still going off and the explosions in the distance. </p>
<p>A beautiful sound. </p>
<p>Perfectly played notes of a melody.</p>
<p>
  <em> Oh, L'manberg, <strong>my</strong> L'manberg. </em>
</p>
<p>His unfinished symphony.</p>
<p>Blood spills all over his stomach, cascading down like the waterfalls overhead. Wilbur tastes it in his mouth, sharp and metallic. Actual iron, from biting his tongue too hard and more emblazoned on the hilt of the sword currently jutting through his torso. <em>“Do it,”</em> the ghost of his last words lies on the tip of his tongue. <em>“Kill me, Phil.”</em> </p>
<p>And he did.</p>
<p>
  <strike> Glad he could count on his father for something, even if it was his end. </strike>
</p>
<p>He’s aware he’s laughing, tearing at the ends of his hair and wrapping arms around his coat as it all comes crumbling down, down, down.</p>
<p>Him.</p>
<p>And L'manberg.</p>
<p>His body hits the ground with a soft thud. The blood comes out faster now, his clothes all stained a dark red and a huge puddle around his feet. If Wilbur closes his eyes and ignores the warmth and wetness, it’s almost like Techno’s cape, his brother’s cape, wrapped around him during a cold winter night. Wilbur can almost imagine the face he’d make upon finding his dead body later, and he dissolves into another bout of manic laughter.</p>
<p>
  <strike> <em> O, what a rash and bloody deed is this! </em> </strike>
</p>
<p>Oh, perhaps not laughter. Wilbur gasps for air, his breaths becoming shorter and shorter. It hurts to inhale and even then his body refuses to take in the air around him. Phil props him up and through his spotty vision and ragged breaths, Wilbur can see tears streaming down his cheeks. </p>
<p>Oh. How tragic. A father, crying over his dying—</p>
<p>“—son,” Phil whispers. He takes one of Wilbur’s hands, dripping in blood, and clasps his hands over it, gripping it tight. “You’re my son,” he repeats, much more desperate now. “You were my son.” </p>
<p>
  <em> <strike> Who would have thought that the old man to have had so much blood in him? </strike> </em>
</p>
<p>His words echo and bounce off the walls. Wilbur can’t even form a reply and Phil keeps saying something but he can’t hear, as if he’s underwater and the sentences float up and out of his grasp. It hardly rained in Pogtopia, or that Wilbur could never know because of how deep underground they were. Tommy and Tubbo spent most of their time outside and he remembers how they both looked before he left, nervous and wary glances yet hopeful for the future of a country.</p>
<p>
  <strike> <em> Woe to the land that’s govern’d by a child. </em> </strike>
</p>
<p>More screaming. Didn’t the TNT finish? He’s so tired. Wilbur can feel his eyes closing, sunlight streaming in through the cracks of the roof. Now that’s ironic, for while L'manberg was outdoors and free in the sun, Pogtopia was underground where the light of day would never touch. Here, Wilbur’s blown one to pieces, and the once cave is now a perfect spot to view his masterpiece. He's caught in between both of them, some sick twisted limbo. The middle; middle child, middle son, middle father---</p>
<p>Fundy. </p>
<p>Fundy, Fundy, Fundy--</p>
<p>Phil hits the side of his face. Perfect. A grandparent for him. Wilbur gasps, shuddering what may very well be his last breaths as Phil continues to try and keep him awake. He wishes he could laugh because it’s too late--this is what everything he’s worked for has come to, his final closing act--death is irreversible and it’s time for him to go-- </p>
<p>
  <strike> <em> Who now, the price of his dear blood doth owe? </em> </strike>
</p>
<p>It’s been a long time since he’s seen the ocean.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>me, upon realizing that wilbur’s death was immediate, quick and painless, because the sword killed him in one hit despite how the fanart and fics depict it: oh come on-- </p>
<p> Shakespeare quotes somewhat summarized from sparknotes and a kid who annoys everyone during English:</p>
<p> <b>O, what a rash and bloody deed is this! -</b> Hamlet, Gertrude crying out despite the fact she knows exactly what Hamlet just did and pretending to be innocent. Wilbur and Phil “holy shit you/I actually did it” </p>
<p> <b>Who would have thought that the old man to have had so much blood in him? -</b> Macbeth, spoken by Lady Macbeth about Duncan as she starts to feel guilty for his murder. In this case, the old man is both Wilbur and Phil. Wilbur’s is more literal, as he’s bleeding out and realizing that he is truly going to die. Phil’s refers to familial blood, as both he and Wilbur are surprised that he cares this much for his son in the end since he wasn’t exactly the best father. </p>
<p> <b>Woe to the land that’s govern’d by a child. -</b> Richard III. Basically saying it’s bad news when a country is ruled by a child--Tubbo. (lol) </p>
<p><b>Who now, the price of his dear blood doth owe? - </b>Romeo and Juliet, the Prince asking who should pay for Mercutio’s death after he hears of it. Since Wilbur asked Phil to kill him and Phil actually did it, he wonders who it is to blame for his death, should anyone care.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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